


Parakeep

by PhiraLovesLoki



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, Gen, Pets
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2019-09-07 07:20:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,231
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16849618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhiraLovesLoki/pseuds/PhiraLovesLoki
Summary: Regina lets Henry adopt a parakeet, but it’s Emma who ends up taking care of the new pet.





	Parakeep

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scapeartist](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scapeartist/gifts).



> This was written ages ago for scapeartist's birthday, but I had only posted it to Tumblr. Enjoy!

It was a relief to be home. First, Emma had had to mediate a situation between the Dwarves and the Merry Men, the sort of twisted Disney mash-up that reminded her of the time she’d gotten drunk (and a little high) with a guy she’d sort of been seeing and they’d watched  _The Lion King_ and  _The Emperor’s New Groove_  back to back. **  
**

Then, she’d been called to Granny’s because someone had reported a suspicious person, who turned out to be August sneaking out of the diner’s kitchen after a tryst with Ruby. She hadn’t really wanted to really think about it, and just gave him a warning about health codes before fleeing.

And  _then_  Killian’s old boatswain (or first mate—you know, she really couldn’t figure out what was true from the stories she knew as a child, and what was apparently  _actually_  true) had been caught in the pawn shop, breaking and entering, by Belle. Belle anxiously and angrily recounted a tale from back when Emma had been in the Enchanted Forest with Mary Margaret—something about a minecart? And so Emma had spent the rest of the afternoon calming the distraught Belle, and then writing up a report to file.

And so, walking into the apartment she shared with Killian (god, that was still weird) and sometimes with Henry, she felt herself immediately relax. She was home, and home was where she could just melt onto the couch with a good book or with the TV remote, and have the world’s sexiest man take care of her.

She was greeted with the sound of angry screeching, coming from the living room.

“Killian, stop, I think he’s afraid of the hook.”

“But it’s shiny, lad. They love shiny things.”

“Okay, try putting it on the bottom of the cage. Maybe he just needs to get used to it.”

“Are you mad? The bloody bird isn’t going to make in the corner, and I am not cleaning droppings off of my hook.”

“What bird?” Emma asked, dreading the answer, as she walked into the room to find a very sheepish Killian, a bright-eyed Henry, and a  _parakeet._

They’d cleared off one of the end tables to make room for the cage, decorated with bright, neon toys. The bird sat inside, trembling and tiny, perched as far back as possible. And, for whatever reason, Killian had unlocked his hook from his brace, and was holding it awkwardly.

“Oh, hello, Swan,” Killian said, nonchalantly.

“I got a bird!” Henry said happily.

“The lad got a bird, Swan.”

“I can see that,” she replied, trying to keep her voice even. “Henry, is there a reason you didn’t ask permission?”

“He’s not going to live here,” her son explained. “Regina told me I could get one, but Roland’s afraid of him. Robin said that Roland will start missing the bird now that he’s out of the house, and then we can move him back.”

“And how long is this process going to take?” She had to stay patient for Henry, she told herself. She could kill Regina later.

“A week or two,” Henry insisted. “Don’t worry. I know how to take care of him, and he’s really quiet.”

“So the angry screeching I heard earlier—an impression?”

“I’m afraid that was my doing,” Killian cut in. “As a seafaring man, I’ve encountered many a bird that’s been enamored with mirrors and silver. I thought this parrot might find my hook interesting, but it seems as though he perceives it as a threat.”

“Smart bird,” she commented drily. “One week?”

Henry nodded enthusiastically. “Two at most. And I promise, I will  _totally_  take care of him.”

“Okay.” Henry pumped his fist in triumph. “Does this poor thing have a name?”

“Yep! Tweety.”

“All right. Let’s close the cage just in case Tweety gets curious while I’m cooking dinner.”

“Okay. I’m gonna get to work on my homework.”

“Good lad,” Killian commented as Henry closed his door.

“He’s only being responsible about his homework because he sprung a bird on me today.”

“It’s just a bird, Swan, and it’s just a week. And besides, Henry’s going to be taking care of him. How bad could it be?”

She laughed as she grabbed the wrought-iron skillet. “Oh,  _you’ll_  see.”

* * *

To the shock of no one, except perhaps Killian, by the end of the week, Henry had cleaned Tweety’s cage once and fed him twice. But what else could be expected of him? When he wasn’t at school, he was doing his homework, hanging out with his friends, sailing with Killian, or learning sword-fighting and riding from her dad (in the event of another “Heroes and Villains” situation, you could never be too prepared). He was a busy kid, and it fell to Emma and Killian to take care of the newest addition to the Charming family.

Tweety didn’t seem all that excited to join said family. He rarely ventured out of the corner at the back of the cage, and except for screaming incredibly loudly (how could something so small make so much noise?) whenever Killian or Henry tried to coax him by shoving their fingers in the cage, he didn’t even  _chirp._  Cleaning the cage wasn’t too hard during that week, because the bird was often too terrified to eat.

When the one-week mark arrived, Emma patiently approached Henry when she came home from work. “I hate to interrupt this homework-fest,” she began, “but is Regina coming to pick up Tweety tonight?”

“Uh, yeah, about that,” Henry said guiltily. “Roland’s still kind of nervous about the bird. Maybe another couple of weeks?”

Of course it would take another couple of weeks.

Emma approached Regina the next day. “Look, I’m okay with him having a pet, but you’re the one who okayed it, not me. If Roland’s afraid of it, can’t you just return it?”

“Do you really think our son would let me?” Regina asked, mildly irritated. “If you hate it so much, I guess we could keep it in my home office.”

Emma thought about the terrified parakeet sitting mostly alone all day. “It’s okay,” she finally said. “Just let me know when Roland comes around.”

* * *

Three weeks later, while she was watching a movie with Killian, she noticed Tweety move from his little corner to another perch. She kept still as she watching him gingerly reach out with one foot (how was he balancing?) to grasp a toy. He gently shook it before dropping it as soon as the bell at the bottom jingled. She grinned: he’d been curious about the toy, but worried that he’d drawn attention to himself. Sensing the need for privacy, she turned back to the movie, but she kept her ears open for bells.

* * *

Two weeks later, she came home to an empty house, as expected: Killian was out grabbing drinks with Dad, and Henry was with Regina. She kicked off her shoes and made her way to the living room; there was a Netflix binge with her name on it, and she’d been thinking about it all day.

Tweety greeted her in his usual fashion: by sitting quietly in his cage and watching her nervously. Why did people even get birds as pets when they were this boring? She plopped down on the couch and grabbed the remote.

A few minutes later, she heard a weird noise. She glanced around the apartment, unable to see what had happened. She returned to her TV show, but a few moments later, it happened again. This time, she was able to tell that it was coming from Tweety’s cage.

The bird had launched himself at the front of the cage, and was clinging to the bars. He chirped anxiously.

He wanted to come out.

She stood slowly, trying not to frighten him, and removed the rod keeping the cage shut. As soon as she swung the door open and tried to pick Tweety up, he seemed to realize that  _predator was close_  and he immediately took off, flying in wide circles around the living room with a piercing scream, before (gently, thank god) hitting a wall. Emma rushed over as quickly and carefully as she could, not wanting to accidentally startle him as she approached him. No such luck: as soon as he regained his senses, he was flying again. It took her five agonizing minutes to coax him back into his cage. She locked it and fell back on the couch, her heart pounding.

* * *

The next time it happened was a week later, with Henry sleeping over at a friend’s house, and Killian upstairs in their bedroom, miserably sick with the flu (hopefully this would teach him a lesson about the wonders of vaccinations). Remembering the previous disaster when she’d let the bird out, she hesitated. But then he chirped hopefully at her. She might as well give it another go.

He spent five minutes sitting on her chest, hyperventilating in terror, as she watched the news, before making a beeline back for his cage. She figured his curiosity had been satisfied.

But the next time she was alone in the room with him, he was back, clinging to the side of the cage.

* * *

A month later, he spoke.

He’d been chirping more and more often, especially when the TV was one, which was a little annoying (“How the bloody hell am I supposed to hear the dialogue over this infernal racket!”). But it was just chirping. Typical bird noise.

She walked into the living room to find Tweety, who’d heard her come home, plastered to the front of his cage, as usual. “I’m coming, I’m coming,” she said. He jumped back onto the nearest perch as she approached, which was (she figured) his polite way of acknowledging that he understood she was coming. “Good boy,” she said, opening the cage.

“Good boy,” he parroted back.

“What?” she asked. He chirped and jumped on her finger.

* * *

Two weeks later, Regina called. “Roland just sheepishly approached Robin and asked about the bird,” she said with a sigh. “So I guess it’s finally our turn. Sorry—I guess one week turned into three months.”

“Actually,” Emma said, almost in disbelief, “if it’s okay with you, we’ll keep him.”

“What? Are you sure?”

“Yeah, it’s kind of nice having him around, and he’s a lot easier to care for than a dog.”

Regina groaned. “Perfect timing, now that Roland decides he  _wants_  the bird.” But her complaint was (mercifully) mostly friendly in nature: one mother complaining to another about the capriciousness of children. “All right, I’ll pass along the news. Let me know if you change your mind.”

“I’ll let you know.”

She hung up the phone and stared at the ball of yellow feathers on her chest. Tweety had decided to take a nap and was splayed on top of her, his feathers puffed up so much that he looked twice his actual size. It was a far cry from the tiny, terrified bird of three months ago.

Keys jingled in the lock in the front door, rousing the bird from his nap. “How’s our little bird?” Killian asked as he entered the room, leather jacket slung over his shoulder.

“You just woke him up,” Emma complained. “He was being cute, and you ruined it.”

“Bloody hell,” Tweety said, before flying back to his cage.

“Bloody hell,” Killian swore before turning bright red. “Damn, Swan, did I teach him how to swear?”

Tweety let out his version of a chuckle before climbing over to his favorite toy and smacking it loudly against the side of the cage several times.

“Apparently.” She stretched and then rolled her eyes when she noticed the bird dropping on her shirt. “Can you get me a tissue?” He grabbed one for her from the box that now permanently resided next to Tweety’s cage. “Regina called.”

“About Henry?”

“About Tweety.”

His face darkened. “Swan, I know you weren’t exactly thrilled with the prospect of owning a bird in the first place, and I know Henry was supposed to be the one taking care of him. But you can’t deny that, well … Swan, this bird is  _our_  bird. You can’t just give him to Regina.” His jaw clenched. “I won’t let you.”

She burst out laughing, which caused Tweety to start shrieking in response. “Oh, come here,” she said, waving him over.

“C’mere,” said Tweety, who hopped over to his water dish for a drink.

“Killian, I told Regina the bird is staying.”

He relaxed, sitting beside her. “Thank you.”

“Besides, I can’t give her a bird who  _swears._  Not appropriate for Roland, you know?”

“Of course not. Entirely inappropriate for young children.”

Tweety apparently agreed; he sat on his favorite perch and began to run through all of the words and phrases he knew. Most of it was gibberish (birdlish, as Henry liked to call it), but the occasional, “Damn it, Killian!” and “Bloody hell!” could be heard.

Killian grabbed the remote and turned on Netflix. “Up for an episode?”

“Go for it.”

If you’d told her three months ago that she would have enjoyed the fact that she couldn’t heard the  _Buffy_  theme song over the chirps and whistles of a parakeet, she would have rolled her eyes and moved on. But instead, as Tweety birdlished his way through the opening, all she could do was smile.


End file.
